


brush

by pendragonfics



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Hermione Granger, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Minor Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Plot Twists, Requited Unrequited Love, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-27 04:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20754488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendragonfics/pseuds/pendragonfics
Summary: The sixth-year at Hogwarts is hard as it is, studying for good grades, keeping friendships and navigating young adulthood. With requited love added to the mix, being a student has never been so difficult.





	brush

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request from a tumblr user!

In the other five years spent at Hogwarts, being in Hufflepuff house never stopped you from hanging out with Harry, Ron and Hermione. But the sixth year was quickly becoming harder and harder, mostly because of all the little things that you’d never think would stack up. Book smart Hermione was going out with the arse McLagan. Suddenly Harry was getting very good at potions, which you’d usually credit to the lack of Professor Snape’s snark, but even then, it was strange.

Perhaps it was neither of those things that stopped you from hanging out with them all.

And it didn’t help that with all the newfound changes with your group of friends, Ron had changed too. He was much taller since the last time you saw him, his freckles duplicated, his smile wider. Some of that could be due to the fact he was the eldest Weasley at Hogwarts now, the rest from his summer spent with Harry Potter at his house in the countryside. You’d wanted to stay with the Weasley’s, but your gran in Wales was hosting the family reunion and your family didn’t miss those sorts of events. 

Ever since Dumbledore’s Army took on the ministry, your feelings for Ron had multiplied, mostly because it was you who got him out from his mishaps with the brains. It wasn’t just because of his pretty face, he said dumb things that made you smile.

There was a Hogsmeade trip coming up, and it was scheduled a week before Halloween. Usually, there wasn’t anything to make a big deal out of. It was just another trip. But you were sixteen years old, and with the pumpkin-riddled festivities blooming, it was opportune for students to make it…romantic.

“You could take Cho,” Ron joked. “You know, since the last time you took her to Hogsmeade went so well.”

“You’re a prat,” Harry retorted. He whacked at his friend with the roll of parchment he was supposed to be essaying with. It _bonk_ed Ron on the forehead, “you know that, right?”

“Oh, be quiet, I don’t want to be kicked out again!” Hermione shushed.

You looked at Ron. “Have you asked anyone yet?”

Knowing Ron and Harry, there was a low to no chance that they’d asked anyone. You knew that because at the Yule Ball in the fourth year, they had taken forever to get dates for the dance. You even got a date for it before Ron had even considered you; which, much to your chagrin, was after he asked Hermione.

“I’m going with Lavender Brown,” he said, in a chipper tone. “I asked her after Quidditch practice yesterday. I think she fancies me.”

You look at Harry and Hermione. While he looked dubiously at his friend, Hermione wasn’t paying any mind, writing quickly in small lettering on her essay. While you weren’t the best person to intervene on this because of your other hesitations - i.e. your own feelings for Ron - you had to say something.

“You know, she can be a tad obsessive.” You tell him, and lower your voice as to not attract attention from the other students studying in the library, “You remember Trelawny’s prediction about her rabbit?”

“That was our third year,” he rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure we’ve all matured since we were thirteen.”

Harry continued to look at Ron in a dubious nature.

Setting her quill into the inkwell, Hermione looked to you. She had to be your closest friend, and the pair of you knew each other well. She gave you a small smile, and asked, “Has anyone asked you for the trip yet, ________?”

“No,” you look at your hands, feeling a little silly. If there was one thing that Hermione knew, it was that Ron was not emotionally mature, even if he was puberty’s poster boy. “I was going to ask Neville since we’re both good at Herbology, but he’s going with -,”

“I’ll go with you, ________.” Harry interrupted.

Both Hermione and Ron looked at Harry. This time nobody was dubious.

“You don’t have to, I know you’d rather go with someone you fancy,” you say quickly, feeling sort of put on the spot. “Like, you know…anyone else.”

“We can go as friends,” Harry added. “Do you want to come too, Hermione?”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure, why not. It’s not like I’ll get much homework done if I stay behind anyway.”

Ron made a funny noise. “Looks like I’m the only one who gets to snog this trip to Hogsmeade,” he boasted, looking rather proud.

You look down at your hands.

* * *

While Quidditch itself was the sweetheart of the school, any match that involved Gryffindor versus Slytherin made everyone go mad with adrenaline.

It was a very anticipated thing, to put it mildly. Luna wore her lion hat again, this time charmed to sound like Dumbledore shouting “ten points to Gryffindor!” every time Gryffindor scored points with the quaffle. You were supposed to sit with the Hufflepuffs, but you managed to sneak away to the place where Luna, Hermione and Neville were sitting nearby the Gryffindor seats. While you didn’t much like Quidditch seeing as Hufflepuff never really won, whenever it was a match against Slytherin you took the side of anyone _against _the emerald and silver house.

You were excited to watch Ginny Weasley play, her first game as a Chaser. Ron was back as a Keeper, Harry as Seeker. Not that you’d memorised the reclaimed verses of _Weasley is Our King_ in preparation, but you were wearing one of Hermione’s old red and gold scarves.

While Ginny was scoring like a fiend, the Slytherin beaters were working up a storm for the Gryffindor beaters to keep the bludgers from, well, bludgeoning their own. Neville kept his eye on Harry, anticipating where the snitch would be, and Luna waved a handmade flag that simply said _roar!_ In her handwriting.

You watched Ron.

He spent every second of the game covering the goalposts, and for every goal that Ginny scored, he kept out four. In fact, you weren’t sure if he hadn’t had something special on his side, it was so spectacular. It made you almost wish you could bottle up the confidence.

“Harry’s seen the snitch!” Neville cried, pointing.

You could see a glint of gold above, and you watched with bated breath as Harry began to dive for it, prompting Draco to follow in pursuit. It seemed like the rest of the players were watching too, except, the Slytherin chasers, who took the advantage and began to move to score during the distraction.

“Watch out, Ron!” you shout, standing up.

You’re not sure if he heard you, or if he saw them coming, but as soon as they neared, he blocked the shot, and Madame Hooch blew her whistle. Surely enough, Harry had caught the snitch, and Gryffindor won the game.

“What was the score again?” Luna asked Neville.

“Four hundred and fifty to eighty,” he replied, almost giddy. You felt the same glee as him; you could only imagine Professor Snape’s sour mood in Defence Against the Dark Arts to follow the game. “I can’t believe it.”

“I can,” Hermione grinned.

As the team were dismounting their brooms, the stands starting to empty, the majority of the Gryffindors and those who were rooting for them began to sing the anthem of the house, the ode to Ron Weasley. And now Ginny, seeing as she was also a Weasley. You’d try and work out if you could adapt the new version of it to mention her.

But as you neared the team, wanting to congratulate Harry and Ron, you watched as Lavender Brown beat you to it, and flung herself into Ron’s long arms.

“Oh, they’re still a thing,” Hermione commented. She sounded dismayed. Inside, you felt it too.

* * *

The celebrations afterwards happen in the Great Hall, where everyone parades through with the victorious hoisted on their shoulders. You would go and shake hands with the captain of Slytherin usually as a show of sportsmanship, but you’re swept into the parade of Gryffindors. As the evening progresses, the celebrations don’t die down; they are just moved on the other side of the Fat Lady portrait, of which you’re invited to join by Neville.

It’s a fun celebration behind closed doors; the glory-seeking Gryffindors get a little rowdy after a few bottles of butterbeer are drunken, someone charmed a few instruments to play in the corner, and people are dancing. You’re quietly standing in the corner, talking to Harry when you notice Ron in the middle of the room.

“I can’t believe it’s almost Christmas,” Harry says, but you can’t quite focus on his words.

You’re watching Ron, seeing him in almost slow-motion. It was funny how you’d always fancied him; it was at first like a mosquito bite, painful, and aching. You’d met him rather abruptly at the end of the first year when he and Hermione were racing to find Professor McGonagall following what wouldn’t be the first of their misadventures with Harry. He’d run headlong into you while turning a corner, and the both of you sprawled across the hallway like bowling pins.

After that, you just sort of kept your ache to yourself, and grew more and more lovesick as the years went by. That’s how crushes worked, right? You kept them to yourself, and that way, your heart was never broken.

Lavender Brown approached Ron, and you almost felt jealous of her courage. She was a true Gryffindor, gutsy and brave. And using these traits, you watched as she took Ron’s face in her hands and kissed him.

You couldn’t stay a second longer and left Harry by himself.

You were halfway down the hallway when you heard your name, and turning, you saw Hermione in pursuit. She caught up to you quite easily, but you tried to hide your face. You hadn’t realised you’d started crying until you blinked, and then it just wouldn’t stop.

“He’s such a prat,” she said, dismayed.

You sniff, unable to stop yourself from looking to her. “You like him. I know.”

She rolled her eyes. “I like pumpkin juice, but I wouldn’t snog it,” she replied and approached you with open arms. “Besides, anyone with eyes would know you’re into him.

“Even Harry?”

“Merlin, no,” Hermione chuckles. “Even with his glasses, that boy can’t see anything beyond his nose.”

You find the both of you are in an alcove of the castle, tucked against the wall beside a window. There’s lots of moonlight tonight, and it spills inside like a shower of silver light that makes you think of a myth or an incandescent waterfall. While you sniffle, Hermione waves her wand, and wordlessly, conjures a handkerchief, appliqued with flowers.

You’re curled into her side, upset, and nearly don’t hear the footsteps down the hallway. By the voices alone, it’s Lavender Brown, and no doubt, Ron Weasley. You glance up from Hermione’s shoulder, and through your watery gaze, you see them both there, watching you, hesitant, but with an undeniable joy across their faces.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Lavender giggles to Ron.

It’s then you see their hands, fingers interwoven. You stand up abruptly. In a swift movement, you take your wand out and pointing it at the pair of them, you cast, “_relashio_!” the same time that Hermione conjures a small flock of canaries, and mutters “_oppugno_!”

Their hands snap back to their sides, and eyes wide, you watch as they flee the onslaught of birds, taking their leave from your presence. 

“Are you okay?” she takes the remaining bird from the air above her head, quietly placing it in your hands. It nestles in, and its warmth distracts you from the chill spreading across your chest. “I swear that boy has the-,”

“It’s okay,” you sigh.

Bringing the bird flush against your cheek, you sigh once more. As it nips at your face, the charm wears off, and a shower of canary yellow glitter fills your hands. It falls through, like sand in the hands of a man lost in the desert, and you feel the same way.

* * *

You try to keep your distance from the exchanges between Ron and Lavender by staying away. In fact, the next time you have time to be in Harry and Hermione’s company is the next Hogsmeade trip, which is just before Christmas. Harry got an owl from his aunt and uncle that he could stay at the Burrow, as did Hermione, and you. While you’re not so much happy to be around Ron so much, the thought of being with Ginny, the twins, and Charlie made it seem a little easier to bear.

“I don’t know what to get you both for Christmas,” you say, shoving your hands into your pockets as you walk the streets of Hogsmeade. You pass Madame Puddifoots, and Zonko’s, but nothing inside makes you feel a tug.

“I could do with another quill,” Harry says offhand.

Hermione takes the end of her scarf and _thwack_s him lightly. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re rich enough to buy any number of quills you’d ever want.” She reprimands.

The bookshop looks quiet, and you look in the window before entering.

“________, it’s unlikely they’re in there.” Harry says, uncharacteristically mindful. “…Hermione, don’t you need to buy something for your mum?”

“We’ll meet you at the Three Broomsticks after for butterbeer,” Hermione says, a cheeriness to her voice.

You do love butterbeer.

You take a deep breath as your two friends walk off and square your shoulders to enter the bookstore. It’s a marvellous place, filled with school textbooks and empty notebooks and dotted with copies of popular books that were often borrowed from the library. The owner is busy with a customer you can’t quite see in the rear of the store, and so you’re free to browse.

Usually, you’d gift your friends handknitted scarves or candles made in your dormitory, but this year you hadn’t had the time, nor headspace for such things.

Your hand falls upon a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ at the same time as another customer. Your hands brush, their skin warm, and you withdraw, an apology ready at the tip of your lips. But as you turn, you see that it’s no other than -

“Ron,” you say, the same time he says,

“________,”

You go back for the book, and in his hesitation, you withdraw it from the shelf. You hold it close to your chest, and when you face him properly. It’s been almost a month since you cast that jinx on him. You notice that his hair is tidier today, jeans a good inch above his ankles, but there’s a new look in his eyes.

“How’s…er, Lavender?” you ask him, hesitant.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.” He pockets his hands, and adds, “I broke up with her. She was a bit clingy; it was hard to think straight.” He nods toward you, a small, wan smile upon his lips. He adds, quietly, “I missed you.”

You blink. “You never saw me if I wasn’t with Harry and Hermione,” you say, quiet, unsure. You take a deep breath, feeling rather mature. “Why _now_?”

“I’m a prat,” he says, abruptly. “I can’t believe it took nearly losing my friend to realise I want to be _more _than that to her.” he rubs at his face, and there’s a redness underneath his freckles. “To _you_.” He amends.

“I don’t want my heartbroken,” you say quickly. “I don’t want to be another Lavender.” You narrow your eyes, pursing your lips a little, regarding your friend, evaluating. “Well…you better make it up to me. I’m meeting Harry and Hermione at the Three.”

“I’ll buy you a drink,” he says.

“First, I’ve got to buy this,” you tell him, looking at the copy of _Hogwarts: A History. _You begin moving toward the owner of the store and their register. “It’s a present for Harry.”

“That reminds me, I’ve got to get some tea for my mum,” Ron tells you. “On the way to the Three -,”

“Madame Puddifoot’s, yeah,” you reply. “Sure.”

* * *

Hermione and Harry sit at their often-used table, the first round of butterbeer half-drank. The only people coming into the Three Broomsticks are teachers, and wizards from Hogsmeade coming in to whet their whistles. Harry looked down at his mug, a smile tugging at his tankard.

“What are you up to, Harry?” Hermione scrutinises, eyes narrow.

“Oh, nothing,” he says, taking another sip. If his mouth was full, he couldn’t reply. But Hermione was persistent, holding his gaze. He swallowed, and feeling rather proud of himself, he said, “I can’t help it if Ron’s DADA textbook was covered in spilt ink yesterday.” He shrugged and took another swig of his drink.

Hermione beamed at his craftiness. “And I can’t help it if I merely suggested to ________ that you’d be better off reading Bathilda Bagshot’s book,” she smirked.

The pair clinked their tankards and took another swig.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr on as @chaotic--lovely, and if you want to request a fic, check out [@pendragonfics](https://pendragonfics.tumblr.com/request_conditions)! ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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